


satisfied

by aloeverava



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Post-Break Up, iwaoi - Freeform, iwaoi angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25279408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloeverava/pseuds/aloeverava
Summary: Hajime forgets to change his address.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31
Collections: ☆彡 ask box fics





	satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> bruh i gotta stop doing this
> 
> Prompt: "Are you satisfied now?!"

“Are you satisfied now?!”

Tooru’s chest heaves as his arm sends the vase flying, shattering just inches beside Hajime’s head. He’s breathing heavily, the aftermath of his explosion. 

“I—”

“Is this what you wanted, Hajime? Did you want to throw your life away?” Venom drips, heavy and acidic from each syllable. Hajime cringes, frozen in his spot amongst the shards of ceramic.

It takes him exactly four long seconds to find his voice.

“This _is_ what I wanted, Tooru. I thought I made that clear—multiple times,” he says levelly, clenching his fists. His nails dig into the skin of his palms, the sting keeping him just barely grounded. He knew that for not just his sake, but both of theirs, that it would be best for only one of them to lose their cool. Tooru had already gone and done that; Hajime’s explosion would only add fuel to the fire.

“Oh, please, you’re one to talk,” Tooru growls. “‘ _I just want what’s best for you, I’m doing this for you,_ ’” He coos in a deliberately poor imitation of Hajime’s voice.

His nails dig further into skin, willing it to break. Blood blossoms underneath his nails; he grits his teeth.

“Don’t—”

“It’s all for me, isn’t it, Hajime? It was all for _me, me, me_!” Tooru looks close to throwing another vase.

And Hajime feels the same.

“ _Tooru_ —”

Oh, but he just can’t shut his mouth, can he? Not just for one moment.

“Listen, Hajime, and listen good.” He crosses the room in three long strides, coming face to face to the man, noses just a hair's breadth away. They can feel each other’s breath; they are both panting, as if there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. Hajime clenches his jaw tighter and Tooru all but bares his teeth, like an animal.

“I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you. I didn’t need you when we were together and I don’t need you now—and I _especially_ don’t need you to follow me to college.”

His shoulders move up and down, huffs of air coming in and out of his lungs.

“Got it?”

The pressure in Hajime’s jaw slowly dissipates. But it doesn’t disappear altogether—no, it moves down his chest, through his sternum and into his heart. It does not burn like a fresh wound, rather it aches as if peeling back a layer of skin not fully healed. It is painful, but familiar.

What was it that they called it?

Oh, right. Heartbreak.

“I—” Hajime starts. He looks into Oikawa’s eyes, the eyes that once gazed into his and said “I love you,” the ones that beamed brighter than any smile when he’d said yes to moving in.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter anymore. None of it does.

But he is still a man of his dignity.

“I didn’t choose to go to Tokyo for you, Oikawa.” Now he is composed, completely neutral. He wouldn’t crack now, he wouldn’t let Oikawa see him vulnerable. He takes sure steps towards the coffee table where the letter, the one that started it all, lays.

> TOKYO UNIVERSITY

> IWAIZUMI HAJIME  
>  OIKAWA-IWAIZUMI RESIDENCE  
>  APT 44

He picks it up with trembling fingers; the address window of the envelope stares up at him.

“I’m sorry I forgot to change my address. As for my acceptance letter—you had no right to open it.” He sees the other about to protest; he holds up a hand, stopping him.

“I applied to Tokyo U because I wanted to major in something different. I promise it was in no way for you. And—” he quickly adds, “it’s a large campus. I’m sure we won’t ever run into each other.”

Hajime doesn’t miss the way Tooru—no, Oikawa’s face— falls, but he doesn’t relish it either. He pushes aside the urge to lunge forward and embrace him. If he wasn’t the only one in pain, then fine, that was more than okay with him.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to continue gathering my things.” He briskly walks past Tooru, careful to step right over the remnants of the vase.

“You’re…”

“What?” Hajime asks, whirling on him. He knows he promised not to explode, but one remark couldn’t hurt. “What is it, Tooru? Spit it out,” he hisses. When Tooru splutters for words again, he scoffs.

“What, you wanted me to get angry?”

“Well... yeah,” Tooru replies honestly. His eyes are now soft; underneath all of the brusque anger was pain, the same kind of pain tormenting Hajime’s chest.

He knows that for a split second, they recognize that suffering in each other. Kindred souls—the very thing that brought them together.

But also the thing that tore them apart.

Before Hajime can fall once more for Tooru’s apologies or his helpless stare, he looks away.

“I’m tired of being angry,” he says. “I’m sure you are too.”

“ _Hajime_ , please, I’m sorry, let’s just—”

He squeezes his eyes shut, a sense of deja vu washing over him. Not this again. Not realizing that they were both in the wrong, apologizing, then breaking each other all over again. Please, not again. He didn’t know if he would be able to handle it.

His hand stills on the picture frame he was about to throw into his duffel bag.

It’s a picture of the two of them at the beach, smiling—or at least, Tooru is. Hajime is scowling at the camera, the other’s arm keeping him within the frame of the shot.

He’s tired of being angry. He’s tired of being heartbroken.

Tooru got the vase, so it’s only fair that Hajime gets this, right?

_No_ , he answers himself as he shoves the photo to the floor. _No, that’s hardly fair._

But gravity doesn’t give a shit what’s fair and what isn’t; the impact shatters the glass of the picture frame.

Hajime doesn’t pick the frame up off the floor, nor does he pick up the sobbing mess of a man lying on the ground next to it.

_“Are you satisfied now?”_ Tooru’s words, shouted mere moments ago, echo in Hajime’s head.

“I’m not,” he says suddenly.

Tooru looks up, tears in his eyes and running freely down his face. Pathetic. Tragic, even. “What?” He asks.

“I’m not satisfied, Oikawa.” His hand is on the doorknob. “...But neither are you.”

Hajime leaves—this time, for good.

**Author's Note:**

> henlo this def could've been written better but komments nd cudos r still cool :-))
> 
> twitter: glutenfreeroach  
> tumblr: hairbleachwhore  
> ko-fi: aloeverava


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